Lost Forever
by Graciexxo
Summary: After waking up to a very shocking discovery, Hermione Granger is kidnapped. Her captors reveal a secret that turns her entire life inside out and upside down. DracoHermione, post HBP.
1. Prologue

A/N: I'm baaaaaaaaack! I had a sudden burst of inspiration and so have finally started re-writing Lost Forever. It's going to be a lot different now, though, since the events of the sixth book. It's still Draco/Hermione, because I don't write anything else, really. I don't have it all written, but it'll probably be a lot darker than the fluff-pot it was turning into last time. I hope you like it!

Read and reply, lovers. If you want to flame me, fine, just make it constructive criticism and spell it right. That'll be dandy.

**Chapter One**

A screech cut through the early morning air, piercing the suffocating silence of Diagon Alley. The usually crowded street was devoid of any sign of life. It was only about 5:30 am, after all. None of the shops even opened until nine. The scream continued to invade every corner of the alley until no one anywhere near the Leaky Cauldron could escape from it.

At last, just as angry customers began to rise from their comfortable beds to curse the person at fault, a series of swears rose above the screech. Finally, blessed silence returned to the Cauldron and all but one person forgot their quest to seriously injure the perpetrator in favor of going back to sleep. Besides, they knew quite well that it wasn't actually the girl's fault. They also knew it would probably happen again.

One woman, however, stormed down the hallway in an angry rampage. It was the third time that horrible girl had woken everyone up at this despicable hour, and she wasn't going to stand for it any longer. The old woman pounded on the girl's door, her face pulled into a severe scowl. "You come out right now, you wretched little girl!" she shouted angrily.

Shuffling was heard from behind the thin wooden door and it slowly opened just enough for a dark brown eye to peer through. The girl behind the door bit her lip ashamedly, and pulled the door open wider. "Listen, Mrs. Cavers, I-"

"You'll hold your tongue, girl. I've had enough of you and your damned alarm clock. You will leave the inn tonight. You'll find somewhere else to stay. I don't care where, but I want you to know that you'll be leaving by check out time. Do you understand me, Hermione Granger?" old Mrs. Cavers hissed threateningly.

The girl sighed. "I'm really very sorry, Mrs. Cavers, but it's not my fault. The twins keep cursing my alarm to scream and there's nothing I can do to stop them. I'm sorry for the inconvenience, but I can't leave, either. This is where I'll be until Sunday."

"I'll be talking to Tom about this!" Mrs. Cavers yelled with a glint in her eye as the door in front of her closed swiftly. "He'll kick you out! Do you hear me? Do you!"

Hermione tiredly rubbed her face with her hand and flopped on her bed. She was going to murder Fred and George for this. She was smart enough to get away with it. All she'd have to do would be to set it up to look like a Death Eater raid, and she'd be on her merry way. Without that blasted alarm clock, preferably. Rolling onto her stomach, she snuggled her face down into her pillow and doing her best to block out the angry old woman still screeching behind the door. There was at least two and a half hours of sleep that she could grab before she had to finish shopping for school.

As her eyes drifted shut, she never registered the strange tingling that she felt in her legs.

-----

A few hours later, Hermione rolled out of bed with a large yawn. The sun was beating brightly through the dirty windowpane, giving the room a dull gray tinge too it. Though Hermione didn't know it had been there to start with, the tingling that had ravished her body while she slept had stopped completely.

Stretching, she moved to the dresser to pick out some clothes for the day. She grabbed her most comfortable outfit, a simple tee shirt and a pair of jeans, and slowly walked into the bathroom. The bathroom door closed behind her and she absentmindedly pulled on her clothes, threw her hair into a rough ponytail, and then began to brush her teeth. After she spit, then came the moment when her eyes moved to the mirror in front of her. That's when her eyes widened in shock, and the toothbrush clattered to the counter. Hermione opened her mouth in an attempt to scream, but nothing came out. She was far too shocked.

For the person staring back at her was not the same reflection she'd been looking at for the past seventeen years. The face looking at her now was narrower. Her cheekbones were higher, and her eyes were now long and slanted. The skin was much darker than the pale complexion she was used to; it looked more caramel-y. Her body had thinned; it looked far more toned than it had the night before. The once fluffy, light brown hair was now tightly coiled dark, dark brown ringlets.

Being Hermione, once she got over her shock, which took quite a long time, she immediately began thinking of logical explanations. The only realistic idea she came up with was that Fred and George had cursed her. They must have. It was the only thing that made a lick of sense. Quickly muttering a spell, her clothes changed to fit her new body, and she stuffed her wand into the back pocket of her jeans. She was going to kill the Weasley twins if it was the last thing she ever did.

Stalking out of her room and slamming the door behind her, Hermione began to make her way to the shop. The twins were always there. She was going to scream at them until her voice was gone. Then she was going to beat them into bloody pulps with their own childish pranks. After that, she was going to force them to change her back to how she was supposed to look.

The girl, so focused on her destination, didn't notice the eyes that looked at her strangely. She didn't realize that someone had started to follow her. Only a moment before a spell knocked her unconscious did she find that something other than her appearance was very, very wrong that day.

When she disappeared from Diagon Alley that day, no one knew how she'd gotten away from the guards that were sent to watch her. Hermione Granger hadn't even left her hotel room. A strange girl had left, instead, but she hadn't looked suspicious. The guards had thought that maybe it was a friend of Hermione's from school that had gotten there early that morning.

And thus, Hermione Granger was kidnapped.


	2. Waking in a Different Sort of Hell

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything, obviously. So don't sue me, because you'll get a really crappy settlement.

A/N: Look! A second chapter! I bet none of you were expecting that. I wasn't really expecting it either, because I really suck at this whole "sitdownandwrite" thing. It isn't very good, but it's here. Finally. Some things might not make sense but they'll be straightened out in the next few chapters. So I love you all, and I hope you enjoy!

**Waking in a Different Sort of Hell **

Brown eyes fluttered open and hazily adjusted to the darkness. Her head was absolutely pounding; as if a sledgehammer was zealously attempting to crack open her skull. Groaning, she grabbed a pillow and held it over her face, trying to block out the scream she knew was coming. The room, however, was entirely silent. There was no screaming alarm clock, and instead of the scratchy fabric of the pillow she had been sleeping on at the Leaky Cauldron, the pillow over her face was silk.

Hermione shot into a sitting position, despite the heavy protests her head made. Her eyes scanned the room in which she laywarily. This was definitely not her room at the inn. This was a huge, lavish suite. There were three doors, leading to Merlin knows where, and two large windowed double doors on either side of the queen-sized bed she was on that seemed to lead out onto a balcony. There was a sitting area on the other side of her room, and a shelf full of books covered the wall to her right.

The last thing Hermione remembered before waking up was a flash of color streaming toward her before falling into someone's arms. As funny as it seemed, though, she hadn't felt in any kind of danger when the stranger caught her. She'd felt safer than she had ever been before. That was ridiculous, though, she told herself. 'Kidnapped' and 'Death Eaters' were the next things to go through her mind. As far as she could tell, though, she was the only one in the room. And if she had been kidnapped, wouldn't they've put her in a dungeon instead of a luxurious suite? Her eyes snapped to the bed table, where she saw her wand. Wouldn't they have confiscated that?

'What the hell?' she thought, cautiously getting out of bed and grabbing her wand.

Holding the magical stick at the ready, she walked slowly toward one of the doors, opening it warily. Instead of finding a figure in black, as she thought she would have, it was only a bathroom. Furrowing her eyebrows in confusion, she went to the next door, and this one lead to a huge closet. The last door led to a deserted hallway. Not wanting to find out if something was waiting for her somewhere down it, she closed it quickly. She then turned to the doors leading out onto the balcony. How high up was she? Was an escape possible?

Just as she was about to open the doors she caught her reflection in the glass. It was the same as the one she had seen in the mirror that morning. Hermione had thought that whatever trick the twins had pulled would've worn off by now. Now she was starting to realize that the Weasley's had absolutely nothing to do with anything other than that damned alarm clock. So what had happened?

Shaking her head, she reminded herself that she could deal with her appearance later. Right now she had to find a way to escape, before her captor returned. Cautiously she turned the handle and pushed the door open enough for her to squeeze through. She quickly strode to the edge and leaned over the railing, trying to determine the height of the balcony, when a voice behind her made her jump and drop her wand, which tumbled to the ground below.

"You're awake," the voice said. It sounded familiar to Hermione, but she couldn't place it. "How are you feeling, Quinn?"

"Who are you?" she asked without turning around. She was too afraid to move. "What do you want from me?"

Someone moved to lean on the railing beside her. She turned her head and almost gasped at who it was. The voice matched the face. It didn't make any sense, though. He had no reason to kidnap her. His face - a face, she realized, that bore a striking resemblance to her own - was blank of any emotion that could help her figure it out.

"We've been looking for you for a long, long time, Quinn. Years."

"Stop calling me that, it's not my name and you know it. What do you want from me?"

"Everyone thought you were dead, you know. Only Mother and I kept up the search. We were right, too, and now you're here."

"Answer my question, Zabini!" Hermione spat.

His eyebrows creased with confusion. "How do you know my name? I would've thought they were smart enough to make you forget everything."

Hermione scoffed, "We've been at the same school for six years. I'm not stupid or self-centered enough not to have picked it up at some point, especially with the Slug Club last year. Who is this 'they' you mentioned?"

"You said not to call you Quinn. Why?"

"Because my name isn't Quinn."

"What is it, then?"

"Hermione Granger, you nitwit." She was getting slightly annoyed. Her kidnapper didn't even know who she was?

Blaise Zabini looked as if he were about to drop dead. "That's not possible! I would've felt it if you were her. I would've known the minute you stepped foot in the same room! You can't be her!"

"Felt what? What in Merlin's name are you talking about?" Hermione asked exasperatedly.

"Our bond!"

"Our what?"

"Our bond. You're my sister, Quinn. My twin sister."

And that's when Hermione fainted.

------

The next time she woke it was light outside, and there were voices arguing outside her door. Her mind shifted to the conversation that night, and she quickly ran through it in her mind. He'd seemed so convinced that she was this Quinn person. It sort of fit with her new face, too. It just wasn't logical, though! There was no way she could believe this without proper evidence. There was only one thing that could even make her ponder the idea that this might actually be happening, and that was a paternity spell. Quickly she rose from her bed and moved toward the door that led to the hallway.

"You're telling me you found Quinn? And she's actually Hermione Granger?" a voice Hermione didn't recognize asked incredulously. Hermione's hand stilled on the doorknob and instead of walking out, she decided to listen in.

"Yes, Mother," Blaise's voice answered with a hint of annoyance.

"So you kidnapped on of Harry Potter's best friends! What in the seven circles of Hell is wrong with you? Did you think that no one would notice? That it was no big thing and people wouldn't care to know what happened?" the other voice bellowed.

"I didn't know it was Granger! She looks completely different!"

"Blaise Xavier Zabini! What am I going to say to everyone to explain this?"

"Maybe you can just smile at Scrimgeour and bat your lashes. He'll forget all about it and then he could be my new father!" Blaise spat bitterly.

Hermione decided to open the door before everything escalated. Pulling it open, she saw Blaise glaring at a beautiful woman who was gaping at her son in shock. Hermione cleared her throat and they both turned to look at her. The woman's eyes lit up at the sight of the girl.

"Quinn! It really is you!" she cried, throwing her arms around Hermione.

Hermione awkwardly returned the hug. When the woman pulled back, tears streaming down her face, Hermione noticed that she was the spitting image of the woman. But she still didn't accept that anything she had learned that night. There was only one thing that could convince her, and she still had to ask for it.

"Before I believe any of this, I would like a paternity spell performed," she said firmly.

"Of course, dear. I'm sure this is very hard for you to swallow, and I'd like you to know that we'll do anything to help you feel at home here."

The woman then pulled a wand from a hidden pocket in her sleeve. She swished it twice, flicked it, and then spoke "verità di anima". Hermione knew that it was one of the most accurate paternity spells, she'd read about it before. A thin string of light pulled out of her chest as one pulled from the woman's. The strings slowly floated toward each other and intertwined.

Hermione gasped in shock and grabbed the doorframe for support. A positive result. This woman was her mother. There was no denying it. A sob escaped her lips. That meant everything she'd known and loved was a lie. Her parents, her home, her memories, all of them were false. She wasn't who she thought she was. Everything was ripped away from her all at once.

She ran back into her room and threw herself on the bed, crying into a pillow. She heard the door close and the footsteps of someone walking toward her bed. Soothing words reached her ears as Blaise gathered her into his arms and let her cry on his shoulder.

"Shh, everything's going to be okay now. I'm your brother and I won't let anything hurt you anymore. You're safe here."

"Promise?" she choked out through her tears.

"I promise, little sister."

"What am I going to do? What about my parents? And Harry and Ron? What am I supposed to tell them? They're going to hate me, aren't they?"

"Let me tell the story of how we lost you in the first place. Then maybe you'll have an idea of what to do," Blaise offered, and Hermione nodded her consent.


	3. Learning the Truth

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything.

**Learning the Truth**

"We were five, and we were playing hide and seek, you and I. Upstairs. It was my turn to hide and you had just finished counting in the corner…"

------------------------

_The spot I'd picked was perfect. I knew you'd never be able to find me. I was on the top shelf in Mother's closet, at the back corner. I'd piled some of her clothes on top of me. No one would've been able to see me unless I came down or they were eight feet tall. You were in the hallway, looking behind doors and curtains. I remember hearing you giggle._

_Then there was a crash, and a scream. Voices were yelling. Dad was thundering at someone to get out. Mom was screaming. I didn't know it at the time, but it was the aurors. Dad was under suspicion of being a Death Eater and they'd come to bring him in to question him. He wasn't, though. He wasn't a Death Eater. Zabinis always stay neutral in wartimes. I think they'd petrified Mom, and that's why she didn't come upstairs to make sure we were okay. You were still searching for me, talking to yourself as you went. I didn't move from my spot. That's when I heard you scream. Someone had come upstairs and grabbed you. They didn't want us to grow up into Death Eaters, I guess, so they were taking custody of us. No one found me, though. They looked but I was hidden too well_

_A few hours later, the house was quiet again. Mom came running upstairs, searching for us. I came down for her, and told her what I'd heard. She burst into tears when she realized you'd been taken. We went to the Ministry, but they said they had no records of any raid on our house. They told us it must have been some group who'd decided to take action against families who were suspected to be dark. They told us you were dead. We found Dad a few days later, in an abandoned warehouse. He'd been tortured for information, and then slaughtered._

_------------------------_

"…And that's that. Mom hasn't been the same since. She's always in the market for a new husband, and when she gets sick of them they vanish. I think the Ministry's afraid to convict her because of what happened with Dad."

"Do you know who did it?" Hermione asked, "Who killed your father, I mean?"

"Mom has named five people: The Prewett brothers, Frank Longbottom, Kingsley Shacklebolt… and Arthur Weasley."

"No!" Hermione cried. "Mr. Weasley couldn't have! I know him to be the sweetest, kindest man. He couldn't have done such a despicable thing. Kingsley, either! They just couldn't have!"

"It's true. I've heard their voices since that night, and every time I do it makes me shudder. Weasley helped kill our father. That's why I hate them. It hasn't got anything to do with the war or prejudices. It's because they got off without even a slap on the wrist while I lost my family."

Hermione began to sob once more.

"So really, you don't have to say anything to Potter and Weasley, since it's for Potter that Father was captured and Weasley's father was the one who did it. You don't owe them any sort of explanation. As for your 'parents', I'm sure they were in on the whole thing, so they've betrayed you as well. Just think, you've been denied the lifestyle you deserve. You were born pure and raised muggle. You could've gone through school with people worshipping you. Never would you have been looked down upon. You wouldn't have been looked at and scorned for being less, because you would've been _more_. You are more."

Hermione closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. She needed time to be alone. She had to rest. She needed to think. Everything could be explained, she was sure, she just had to think through it logically. How could Mr. Weasley do such a thing? How could he subject a family to such pain? How could he have done it?

What a selfish bastard. He destroyed a family's happiness, and then no doubt ran back to his own perfect life. He who used to sympathize with her for getting called such filthy names was the reason she was called them in the first place. It was his fault she'd grown up in a home where she didn't feel she fit, his fault she didn't feel at home anywhere she went. It was his fault for everything.

The beginnings of hate and anger were stirring up in her stomach. The tears that streamed down her face were of anger now, not of sadness. Her intuition had told her that everything Blaise had told her was the truth. Plus, she always had a mild truth spell on her wand that would have alerted her to any lies.

"Hermione? Are you going to be okay?" Blaise asked, breaking the dark haired girl out of her thoughts.

"My name isn't Hermione anymore. It's Quinn. I need to be alone for a while. I need time to absorb everything. Please," she whispered.

Blaise nodded, smiling gently, "Of course. I'll have a servant bring up your meals until you feel you're ready to come out, okay?"

"Not a house elf!"

"Not a house elf, we don't own any. We employ squibs. They give much better service. I'll see you later," he said, closing the door behind him.

------------------------

Hermione didn't leave her room for six straight days. She hadn't talked to anyone except Gilda, who brought her meals. All she did was sit on her bed and think. She thought about everything, because that's what she always did. That's who she was. It didn't matter what her name was or what her face looked like. She would always be the same on the inside.

So, when Gilda brought breakfast on the morning of the seventh day, Hermione asked her to help her get ready. Gilda happily agreed and soon Hermione was squeaky clean. Her dark brown curls were piled atop her head and her makeup had been applied subtly in a way that made her eyes stand out. She was dressed in a silk, scarlet wrap-around day robe.

Gilda gave the girl directions to the dining room and disappeared down one of the servants' corridors.

Then Quinn Zabini stepped into the world as herself for the first time since she was five. No longer would she be known as Hermione Granger, the muggle born friend of Potter and Weasley. No.

Slowly, and somewhat nervously, Quinn began her trek to the dining room. Portraits smiled at her as she passed and she smiled back. She felt as if she were in the right place for once. As if she belonged. It was nice. She decided she could get used to it easily. Quinn got lost only once on her way but a portrait kindly directed her back on track. When she entered the dining room, Blaise was seated by himself at the table reading the paper.

"Good morning," she grinned.

Blaise jumped so high he nearly fell out of his chair. Quinn giggled and he shot her a playful glare. "Good morning. You scared the wits out of me, Quinn."

"Sorry."

"No you're not."

"I know I'm not. Where's mother?"

"Out. Shopping, most likely. How're you feeling?"

"Better. I've thought everything through and I'm dealing with it. Thank you for leaving me alone," she smiled softly.

"My pleasure. Are you hungry?" he asked, folding up his paper and placing it to the side. "Gilda told me you haven't been eating much."

"I'm starving, actually."

"The kitchen is just through that door," he said, pointing. "Just go in there and tell Bridget what you want. She's the cook."

Quinn nodded and did as she was told. After a few minutes of chatting with Bridget and the rest of the cooking staff, she waltzed back into the dining room her breakfast in one hand and a glass of milk in the other. She almost dropped it, however, when she saw who was sitting across from Blaise.

"What is Malfoy doing here?" she asked through gritted teeth, fingers tightening around her glass.

"Oh, didn't I tell you? He's staying here for the summer," Blaise told her nonchalantly before turning to the blond. "Draco, this is my sister Quinn. You'd remember her better as Granger."

Malfoy choked.

Quinn glared.

Blaise smirked. "Come and join us at the table, Quinn."

"I'd rather eat in my room, thanks. It's a death eater free zone."

"Shut up, you stupid mud-"

"Op, bop, bop, can't use that word anymore, Ferret. My blood is just as pure as yours."

"At least I was raised properly. You grew up with filthy muggles."

"At least _I_ haven't tried to murder anyone, you cowardly piece of death eater scum."

"Fuck you."

"Original."

"Are you two finished?" Blaise cut in. Both continued to glare at each other. "Quinn, sit."

She moved to the chair next to her brother and slid into it.

"Good, now Draco, roll up your sleeves."

He pushed the sleeves of his robes above his elbows and held out his pale, unmarked forearms for Quinn to see.

"Very good. So. Quinn, formerly Hermione, is pureblooded. Draco, you now have no reason to hate her. And Draco is obviously not a death eater. He no longer hates you and will stop tormenting you, and therefore, Quinn; you no longer have a reason to hate him. Okay?"

"Fine."

"Fine."

"Good."


End file.
